


Leviathan

by porrimaniac



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, F/M, Humanstuck, Vampire Slayer(s), Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:43:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/porrimaniac/pseuds/porrimaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nothing on earth is its equal—<br/>a creature without fear.<br/>It looks down on all that are haughty;<br/>it is king over all that are proud."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leviathan

**Author's Note:**

> (well....here goes nothing)

The wind burnt his face. Gliding down the pavement on the two rubber wheels of his 1998 Brunswick bicycle – God, he loved that bicycle down to its rusted chains and its greasy handlebars – came as a relief to him. It was a short moment of his evening in which he could focus on two things: the sound of his pounding heartbeat and the winding road ahead of him. It would have been scary to him during previous years to drive his current routes. Cars with blinding headlights sped past him only inches away from his bike, but he enjoyed the company.  
  
A lone thought blew into his ear and he considered stopping and lighting a cigarette; he used one hand to reach for a spare pack (“Aw, shit”) and remembered that his dad had switched out all of his cigarettes for those god-awful E-Cigs. He gripped the handlebars of his bike tighter as he grumbled profanity under his breath, pedaling his legs faster. Cheeks burning, the wind no longer seemed as pleasant. The destination was always his least favorite part of the bike ride.  
  
Entering his home and kicking off his three-year-old Converse sneakers – those terribly uncomfortable, pathetic excuses for shoes – he sat on the upper flight of stairs to catch his breath. A bout of thick, dry coughs rose out of his throat and made the back of his tongue sear in pain.  
  
“Karkat?” his dad called. Oh, fuck, he was still awake.  
  
“Yeah, I’m home,” Karkat managed to reply after silencing his coughing. He hurried up to the kitchen sink and spit out a mixture of saliva and mucus, quickly rinsing it down the drain with the faucet. His dad’s footsteps entered the room, striking Karkat as being unusually calm. He turned to his father. The look in his eyes said plenty, but he chose to speak anyway.  
  
“It’s lung cancer,” his father said. “That’s what they told me on the phone.”  
  
Karkat smiled. “Bullshit,” he replied, turning away and reaching into the fridge. “You’ll have to do better than that.” He pulled out a small carton of orange juice.  
  
“You’re taking a flight to Minnesota on Tuesday,” his father continued, ignoring Karkat’s previous comment. “Your mother lives close to the hospital you’ll be treated at.”  
  
“Cut it out already.” Karkat took a large swig of orange juice, the acid burning his throat.  
  
“It’s called Mayo Clinic. It’s one of the best hospitals in the United States.”  
  
“I said _cut it out ___.”  
  
“You’ll start chemotherapy as soon as you get there.”  
  
Karkat lost it. He threw the carton at his father, barely missing his balding head by a few centimeters. He felt bile rising in his already-raw throat, making the back of his tongue scream in pain again. “I said _shut up ___, already!” he shouted. “I don’t have any time for this! Alright? So lay off!”  
  
“Don’t talk to me like that, Karkat,” his father growled, his voice not as serious as it should have sounded. His eyes were glistening in preparation for tears. Karkat had only seen his father cry on rare occasions (like when his mother had left him, and when he had lost his third job), so he knew immediately that his dad hadn’t been messing with him.  
  
“Lung cancer,” Karkat breathed, his voice thin. “I don’t…understand.” His father said nothing in reply. He simply repeated that Karkat was flying to Minnesota on Tuesday, which was three days from then, and then retreated back to his bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him. Karkat stood in silence for a while, slumping to his knees in the middle of the kitchen floor, some of the spilled orange juice seeping into the frayed bottoms of his jeans. He had only been smoking for a year. How could his condition have gotten so serious in that short amount of time?  
  
A part of him was excited to go back to Minnesota to see his mother. He loved the weather there in comparison to the dry, hot air of Arizona, and the seasons there were vivid. His best friends lived there, of whom he hadn’t seen for almost two years (their only means of communication were instant messaging and the occasional Skype call). However, his reasons for needing to be sent to Minnesota were not as desirable. Karkat couldn’t ever say that he hadn’t been expecting to get sick – no way had that never crossed his mind – but it still cut him inside. It was as if God had assured him, “Oh, no, dude, trust me. It’s cool,” and then had stricken him with a debilitating disease or some shit and then said “Hey, it’s just business. What did you expect?”  
  
Damn.  
  
It almost didn’t feel like it had been six months since he had been admitted.


End file.
